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Log: The Right Horrorcon for the Job
IHQ Command Center This massive chamber lies at the core of the upper level, its ceiling high enough for even a gestalt. The walls are covered in monitors and consoles from floor to ceiling, while narrow catwalks rise from the floor to the upper areas where additional terminals and consoles are housed. At the center of the chamber is the column containing the turbolift, while on five of the walls are large double doors, four opening into the various divisional wings. Between the MSE and DCI wing entrances is a smaller sets of doors leading to the War Room. Two huge main screens dominate two of the eight walls, displaying information and images sent by the main computer. Atop the column is the communications room, accessible by the catwalks on either side of the column. Galvatron stands in the IHQ Command Center, scrolling threw important news from his various new holdings throughout the galaxy, prizes claimed from the killing of Primanoctus. He sent an urgent missive to Apeface to meet him here -- but it being Apeface, Galvatron of course has 50 / 50 odds of actually /getting/ that meeting. Nonetheless, he waits, scowling at news of unrest among his new, distant subjects. "Hhhrg." Apeface is no doubt detectable to Galvatron, surprisingly a good 15 microcycles early, although he has yet to formally announce his presence. Noxious clouds of stinky inky black smoke are wafting up into the upper reachs of the chamber and slowly filling the room with a stench that is more unpleasant than Apeface normally does and infinitely more omnipresent. Literally around the corner of the nearest bulkhead from Galvatron, Apeface huddles in a tiny shadowy alcove, the tip of his thumb flipped back to allow a fiery torch to shoot out into the bowl of the pipe made out of some chunk of gross space metal he probably scalped off a Junkion. "Hh. Apeface," Galvatron says, glowering in the direction of the bulkhead. "Come out. I can /smell/ you." Well, pretty even odds it's either Apeface or Blot. At least Skalor's in jail, so he's ruled out. Still, Decepticon warlords get pretty good at detecting the signature odors of their smellier troops, if only through the process of learning not to stand downwind from them. "I have summoned you here for a purpose," Galvatron continues, disengaging the news feeds, causing the holographic screen to flicker and disappear. "So I would be oh so /delighted/ if you could be troubled to give me your /full attention/." The Decepticon leader frowns slightly, as if annoyed already. Apeface grunts disgruntledly and bangs a fist against the bulkhead noisily. Reaching into a cyber pocket in his robot-pants he pulls out a clump of Skagweed from Skunkulon V, it's got no known medicinal properties for any species, it's just really nasty smelling. He pushes it into the pipe he's smoking with a smirk as he nods his head at Galvatron. Then he immediately turns slightly away covering up the flame from his torch needlessly 'to protect it from the wind' but mostly to rudely break eye contect. "I know right. And I'm here, EARLY. Because, it's really." He pauses mid sentence to take a ginormous rip of the stinky black stuff and coughs before exhaling it. "important to me." He giggles, "It's not because Snapdragon is complaining about his oil bath being cold or anything." He pauses before lighting the pipe again, not turning his face to Galvatron but his glowing robot eyes to angle over to make eye contact, a genuine look of 'look you have my full attention' and then he reverts all of that important attention back to his extracurricular activity. Galvatron scowls, but realizes that this is as much as he's likely to get from Apeface. "I have tasked the Terrorcons with an important mission -- to assassinate the Autobot intelligence agent /Punch/." Galvatron taps a key, and a picture of Punch appears, sitting at his desk surrounded by empty cubes of high-grade energon. "His... /absence/ is key to an important, ongoing operation. And frankly," Galvatron groans, "I don't trust the Terrorcons to keep from eating their weapons, let alone completing any /important/ objectives. So /you/, Apeface -- you, a killer, a soldier without morals, remorse, or pity -- /you/ must succeed where they will almost /certainly/ fail." Apeface looks up at Galvatron. He opens his mouth as if to speak, forgetting his has robo lungs full of nasty poopy smoke and then coughs. In a matter very similar to a spittake that engulfs Galvatron in samesaid smoke. He scratches his chin while making a dumb groan and does his best to pretend to look stupid at Galvatron. "But Galvatron. I really don't want to eat their weapons either. I'm sure if I just put some ketchup on them they'll take care of it themselves." Galvatron narrows his burning red eyes. It is the sort of look that says 'Oh my god I am like two seconds from shooting you.' In fact, his anger even translates into his cannontip glowing a bit with some super-deathcharge. "No, you /cretin/," the tyrant of the Decepticons rasps, "You must make sure that /HE/" -- Galvatron points to the picture of Punch -- "/DIES/! I want to see his /corpse/ laid out at my /feet/!" Apeface nods sagely, as if he was allready thinking the same thing, in complete agreement with Galvatron, casually acting as if he doesn't notice the rage while trying desperately not to let the corners of his mouth curl up in satisfaction at the success of his ploy. "Oh right, well he's allready on my list..." He begins, dragging out the last few syllables, "I guess I could just take Counterpunch off the top of the list, slide him down under Optimus Prime and Cyclonus for creeps I need to kill, and blammo, he's at the top. Shouldn't be a thing cyborg-chicken-wing." He raises his fist and coughs a deep squelchy nasty sound and then spits a black and green glob of nastiness onto the floor. "You want a trophy or somethin' to remember him by?" Galvatron stares down at the nasty spit left on his priceless floor. "Yes. As much of the body as you can manage," he says, his deep voice at once weary and quivering with the sound of anger being choked back. "I promised the corpse to someone. I'd /hate/ to be seen as anything less than a /robot of my word/." Galvatron glares directly at Apeface now. "And as a /robot of my word/, I promise that if you screw this up, Apeface, I will make you /very, very sorry/." Apeface rolls his purple robot eyes at Galvatron, they flicker merrily belying Apeface's amusement perhaps. He taps his cashed pipe out on the floor knocking it gently against the bulkhead. "Galvatron. I know you're a bot of your word, for a fact. So since I'm good at what I do, I'll just bring you back a dead Punch, I won't even spike it you can do that yourself. It's no big deal, I wasn't doing anything next week anyway." Mentally Apeface draws a big black jiffy marker line through the week marked 'Snapdragons Birthday Space Cruise' and pencils in 'Snapdragon's a robo-douche'. "My schedule is free and clear. Save the sexy talk for when I am fucking up. It'll hold more weight." Apeface grins widely showing a hefty amount of confidence as he then winks at Galvatron. Galvatron sneers in response to Apeface's saucy wink. "Get out of here," he says sharply. "Go and -- just /do it/. /GO/!" Galvatron's fists ball up and shake at his sides. "/GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!/" he screams, so loudly that it can be heard across IHQ. Apeface scampers off a few steps, pretending to be motivated/intimidated/scared by the yelling, but after about 5 footfalls he reverts to his goonish and slowmoving gait, trundling off somewhere. "Aye aye cappy-tan."